I didn't mean to. But I kind of couldn't avoid it.
It was notably different than the first time I died. For starters, it was much, much quicker. It didn't take long for me to bleed to death from the wound in my throat. Or maybe I asphyxiated. It was so hard to tell, and I had so much other shit going through my mind at the time that the exact cause of my death kind of escaped me.
The first time I died, I was beaten to death until everything went dark and I woke up sitting in the waiting room in Hell.
This time, when everything went black I woke up laying on the floor of an unfamiliar room.
Shaking from my death-or-something-near-it experience, I slowly sat up and looked around. I was the only thing in the small room, but something about the walls and the colors gave my surroundings an unmistakably medical atmosphere. There was a windowless door on one wall.
I felt feeble. My arms trembled as I propped myself up and I was beginning to think that it wasn't just from fear.
"Hello?" I called out.
A big red light above the door switched on with a low hum. Moments later, the door opened and an imposing, irritable man in a lab coat entered. "Damn it," he said, seeming to speak to me and to himself simultaneously. "You shouldn't be here," he continued. He seemed angry. As he knelt down next to me, I realized that he also seemed familiar.
"Who are you?" I asked weakly.
He ignored my question. "You have to go back," he said sternly. "Do it right this time." He withdrew a large syringe filled with a pale green liquid from his coat pocket, gripped my arm tightly, and injected me. Then he stood up and walked toward the door.
I tried to shout after him to ask him who he was again. I knew he looked familiar. But my weakness combined with whatever he just injected me with held me back. I let out a hoarse whisper and collapsed onto the floor.
Everything went black again.